A Metaphor for Change
by Sahara Storm
Summary: [Oneshot, Grindeldore] Five things Albus Dumbledore could not bring himself to say to Gellert Grindelwald. (One of them is a lie.)


**Title:** A Metaphor for Change

**Fandom:** Harry Potter

**Pairing:** Dumbledore/Grindelwald

**Rating: **Hard R.

**Word Count:** 1,000

**Summary/Description: **Five things Albus Dumbledore could not bring himself to say to Gellert Grindelwald. (One of them is a lie.)

**Warning/Spoilers:** Sexual situations, yum. Gay. Spoilers for _Deathly Hallows_.

**A/N:** 31 days, February 28th: _time doth run with calm and silent foot_. This prompt immediately called for Dumbledore introspection. But I went for something a little different.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

1. Albus is only barely aware of old Bathilda croaking out introductions; he seems to have lost all ability to create and process thoughts that make sense. He must look like quite the idiot, standing in the middle of the path that leads to the Bagshot residence: mouth hanging open, glasses askew, and hands shaking, but somehow, he does not care. He searches for words, and draws blanks again, and again, and this is what it means to be truly _breathless_.

The wind rushes through the trees, and blond locks toss and twirl. Albus is entranced.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Albus," a smooth voice says, and it takes Albus a while to realise that it is Bathilda's nephew who speaks, and that he is speaking to _him_. He clears his throat hastily.

"Of course, I'm sure that the pleasure is all mine." They extend arms for a handshake. Albus' mouth goes dry the moment their hands touch, and Albus think to himself that this is ridiculous. He doesn't even know the boy's name! (He is sure Bathilda said it, but alas, he was not paying attention.)

Nevertheless, he returns the easy smile that is directed his way to the best of his abilities. The old woman totters off, mumbling something about 'play nice with each other'. The youth waits until she is out of earshot before turning on Albus and raising an eyebrow politely.

"May I ask why you are staring at me?" It is not asked unkindly.

After being quietly mortified for a few seconds, Albus composes himself.

"That is a very interesting necklace that you are wearing. Where did you manage to procure it?"

_You're beautiful._

* * *

2. "And he even had the gumption to tell me that I was… _feminine_." Gellert snorts inelegantly as he ducks under a hanging branch laden with sweet flowers, and waits for Albus to catch up. The old park is overrun with wild trees and bushes, but it is beautiful in a sweet, haunted way. "So then I…"

Gellert trails off as he glances behind him, and sees that Albus is shaking with silent laughter. Albus presses his lips together, but he cannot stop the mirth from showing up plainly on his face.

Gellert's smile is quick and sly; a tiny dimple winks at Albus for a split second.

"What is it?" he asks with an air of patience, seemingly amused as Albus continues to chuckle soundlessly. The weight of his gaze makes Albus feel warm, and it is some time before he can compose himself.

"Nothing, nothing," he says, waving a hand. Gellert gives him a suspicious look. "I assure you, it's nothing at all. Now, I believe you were about to tell me about the intriguing way in which you hexed him?"

_You have flowers caught in your hair._

* * *

3. Albus can only gasp.

It feels strange to be so full, but it feels right somehow. As if he is complete. Gellert has a hand fisted in the roots of Albus' hair; Albus can almost feel him trying to maintain his control as he thrusts in, slowly. It burns, but in a pleasant way, and sometimes Gellert hits a spot that makes Albus forget how to think. They are both slick with sweat.

"Albus," Gellert murmurs, and his thighs hit Albus' buttocks. His other hand is gripping Albus' cock, stroking it every now and then, only to stop and tease the leaking tip. Albus gasps louder.

He wants to speak, to let these words spill from his lips like honey, wants to do anything that would make Gellert as delirious as he is and compound this heady feeling, but--

He bites his lip. He can only speak in moans.

So he clenches his fists around the sheets, and thrusts back against Gellert.

_Harder, please, _harder

* * *

4. There is a long, static silence at the end of Gellert's passionate outburst. The blond is breathing heavily, jerkily, angrily, as if he has just run for miles and miles in the wrong direction. Albus is sitting on the bed, looking up at him, and he is not quite sure what to say. He knows he has to say _something_, though, and chooses his words carefully.

"I thought," he says, as casually as he can, reaching into the jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, "that we were going to protect the weak." He rolls the candy between his fingers before putting it in his mouth. "You make it sound as if you want to subjugate them."

Gellert glances down at him through a golden curtain of hair that frames his face. He shrugs, almost uncaringly. The fire has left his eyes.

"All theorists need to revisit their ideologies eventually," he says, and turns towards the desk where the old maps and letters are strewn about like the pieces of a puzzle.

There is a sour taste in Albus' mouth. He swallows it down.

_You are changing._

* * *

5. Gellert's laugh is almost manic as his curse misses Albus by just a few inches. It would have only taken a little more effort on his part, and a little less effort on Albus' to do away with him on that attack.

Gellert is winning this duel. He knows it, he revels in it. Albus sees the light heating up his eyes.

"A mere forty-six years apart, Albus!" he admonishes, stepping neatly to the side. Albus' hex zooms past him. The redhead is breathing hard, and he does not take his eyes off of Gellert's wand, not for a second. "Is this what you have come to? I had hoped that you at least would give me better sport." He cackles again, and this time, his eyes sparkle with malice. "I suppose it is to be expected, when one is in love with one's opponent."

Albus presses his mouth into a line, and he does not answer. He takes another deep breath, and attacks again.

_I am not in love with you._

* * *

**A/N:** Oh angst. It just becomes this pairing. Also, you may not see where I included the prompt, but it's there, I promise. 

I'd love to hear your thoughts! Feel free to suggest a better title.


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